


Old Junk

by DacatTheBard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Junkenstein's Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DacatTheBard/pseuds/DacatTheBard
Summary: After the success of his Halloween party story, Reinhardt decided to write a sequel in the form of a short novel, and then promptly forgot about it. Years later, Brigitte stumbles across it.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Quest for a Selbsttätig Gyrostat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing on here, hope you enjoy!

“Are you sure this place will have what we need, Reinhardt?” Brigitte said, eyeing the storage facility dubiously. “It seems like it’s falling apart.”

“That’s how you know there’s REAL treasure buried there!” Reinhardt said, a warm smile lighting up his features at the familiar place. He began to walk towards the large nondescript building with a brisk pace, carefully eyeing the sizable key ring he still had, even after all these years.

Brigitte quickly checked that their truck was locked, before following him. She caught up with the large man easily, though he was almost twice her size. “Wouldn’t they have cleared out this place once Overwatch was shut down?”

Reinhardt shook his head. “Reyes always made sure it was not on any official Overwatch documents, he stored things here too. So did Morrison, I think. As for Ana and Torbjörn, I don’t know.”

Brigitte frowned as she heard the touch of sadness that fell through Reinhardt’s voice as he discussed his old compatriots. It was best if they got through this as quickly as possible, she thought, Reinhardt was too often stuck in the past without literal reminders of it surrounding him.

As the two reached the heavily dusted front doors to the storage facility, Reinhardt produced a small key from the key ring with a great flourish, before slotting it in and opening the door. Reinhardt ducked as he walked through the doorway, and Brigitte cast a worried glance at the decayed beige walls that lined the hallway forward. Every 20 feet or so laid a large garage door, locked tight, with small spotlights that came on as the two walked past. Reinhardt carefully looked over the plaques on each door, and Brigitte regarded the dusty air and crumbling paint. No one had been here in a very long time.

“Ah hah! Here we are!” Reinhardt said, stopping in front of a particularly tall garage door. He wiped away a thick coating of dust from the plaque, which still proudly proclaimed R. Wilhelm, #012 even after all these years. Reinhardt once again produced an old worn key, and slotted it into the lock underneath the plaque.

A small robotic voice crackled over the speaker that echoed quietly through the hallways. “Identification Please.”

“Reinhardt Wilhelm, passcode: Crusader15.” Reinhardt said evenly.

The door chirped in reply. and the garage door began folding into the ceiling of the fairly large storage unit. Though it was hard to tell it’s real size, since the room was piled floor to ceiling, with vast amounts of junk. It seemed every available space had been crammed with stuff, and when flat surfaces ran out, it had just been piled onto other stuff. There were shelves, but for every one storing some item or box, there were two that looked like they were being stored here themselves.

Reinhardt grimaced, as a small blue orb bounced out of the storage unit. “Ah, this is not how I remember it.”

“This might... take a while.” Brigitte said, surveying the chaotic lands before her.

Reinhardt nodded, before putting a haphazard step into the storage unit, between a massive lawn chair and what Brigitte was pretty sure was a waffle iron. “Let’s get to it then!” He said, triumphantly standing on what appeared to be solid ground. “Just staring is never any use!”

“Right.” Brigitte said to herself, attempting to find stable footing among the debris as Reinhardt continued further into the clutter. Eventually, somehow, Brigitte got lost. She figured she could probably find her way out of the storage unit with a bit of effort, but for now she had no idea even which direction the exit was. She stared ruefully at the junk around her, which obeyed no reason or order in the chilly room. There was no way they were gonna find a selbsttätig gyrostat in this mess, and organizing it was fairly out of the question. She sighed, and started towards a shelf to her left, which was only slightly tilted. Maybe Reinhardt has thought to put the component on a shelf, it was a particularly finicky bit, after all. As she reached the musty smelling grey cubes, she spied a glint of metal behind a box of books and journals. Her hopes were dashed however, when she moved the box to see it was just an oddly made lamp, partly crushed in the middle. As her head fell, her eyes landed on the box she still held, full of books and journals. She put the box down, and curiously scanned the contents. A worn copy of one of the Harry Potter books peeked out at her, as well as a bookmarked copy of Frankenstein’s Monster, a long with a few titles she didn’t really recognize. She picked up the old volume, when another book tumbled out of the box with a dull thud. One of the journals, she noted as she reached down to pick it up. A few papers had fallen out of it, and as she tried to place them back into the journal, a page fluttered out. This one appeared to be the first page of the notebook, in which was written:

_**The Four Wanderers and the Dark Nights to Ravenrode** _

Underneath that, in was Brigitte recognized as Reinhardt’s scrawling writing, was written “Second to Final Draft!! :D” Brigitte flipped to the first page, which held an incomplete table of contents. She skimmed it, before she turned the page. A peek wouldn’t hurt.


	2. Chapter 1

**O** nce upon a time, there were four Wanderers. A reclusive alchemist, skilled in the healing arts, an old soldier, veteran of countless battles, a wandering gunslinger, seeking adventure, and an archer from the east, trying to escape his past.

Together they had fought off the evil Doctor Junkenstein’s hordes, and together they had triumphed.

The Four Wanderers, though the people of Adlersbrunn knew them now as heroes, dined that night. For they had fought with blood and bullet to defend the great doors of the Lord's Castle. They now sat in the mess hall, drinking and discussing the previous battle.

“So you’re telling us, you can summon a dragon?” Asked the gunslinger, drinking a mug of ale.

“Yes, it is the gift of my heritage. I can control and summon the Dragon of the South Wind, to strike down my foes.” The archer replied.

“Did your ancestor trap a dragon or something?” The soldier asked. He took a tentative bite into one of the stale rolls the Lord had supplied the four.

The archer put on a mildly affronted look, before putting down his sake. “The Dragon of the South Wind is no malevolent tyrant, but the noble guardian of the Shimada Clan! As my father told the story, The Dragon of the South Wind and his brother upheld balance and harmony in the heavens-“ He began.

The alchemist waved a finger in front of the archer, shushing him. “We have spent the night fighting arm in arm, archer, don’t make me shoot you now that we’re all settled.” She said and brandished her gun warningly.

The gunslinger gave her a curious look. “Doesn’t it just heal? Been meaning to thank you for that, by the way.” He added sheepishly.

The alchemist huffed. “Did you not see my sleeping darts? I could knock any of you down before you could say ‘How do you shoot with only one eye?’.”

“I’d wager my bow against your darts any day.” The archer challenged.

The gunslinger stared at the alchemist suspiciously. “Wait, how do you shoot with just the one eye?” He said.

The alchemist winked at the gunslinger (or maybe she just blinked? He could not tell) and turned to the archer, a mischievous grin lighting up her features. 

“I'll-“ she said.

Seeing exactly which shooting range this conversation was headed, the soldier loudly changed the subject. “So, where are you two young'uns headed?”

“Young'uns?” The archer muttered distastefully.

“I’m headed to Ravenrode, I reckon. There’s normally work for my type in the city.” The gunslinger said and grabbed a roll.

“Your type?” Questioned the soldier.

A proud smirk crept onto the gunslinger’s features as he leaned back against the old wooden chairs. “Yup. I’m a certified monster-hunter.” He said, before taking a bite of the stale food.

“And there’s work for you in Ravenrode?” The archer asked the him, his curiosity peaked.

The gunslinger nodded. “For any man that can shoot well enough, there’s always work in Ravenrode.”

The archer scratched his chin, before saying, “Then I may head there as well, for I am currently unemployed. But for now, we have heard little of you two. I assume you travel together?”

The alchemist nodded, taking a long drink out of her glass of tea. “We are on a quest, of sorts.” She said simply.

The gunslinger perked up as she spoke, he had always been a fan of stories. “A quest? Surely you can’t deny us this tale!” He said.

The soldier glared at the gunslinger. “We can, and we will.” He snapped. 

The gunslinger put his hands up in a gesture of peace, taken aback. The alchemist breathed a sigh, and turned to the two men sitting across from her. 

“I’m afraid ours is not a pretty story. We are hunting The Reaper.” she said.

“Then your quest is finished! For we slew him in the battle!” The archer said, but the alchemist just shook her head sadly.

“The Reaper is not so easily destroyed.” She said and a weariness shone in her eyes.

A lull fell on the conversation, as they pondered these ominous words. 

Then the quiet was broken by the gunslinger, who spoke, “Well, all sorts of folks come through Ravenrode. You just might find some leads. Why don’t we all head there?”

“Desperate for company, gunslinger?” The archer teased. 

The gunslinger shrugged. “The trip to Ravenrode is not a particularly safe one, and I’ll sleep better with someone watching my back, I’ll admit.”

“It wouldn’t hurt. We’ll join you.” The alchemist said, popping a roll in her mouth.

The soldier shot her an annoyed look, which she smoothly ignored. He might be a good fighter, but he knew which one of them could better read a map.

“I suppose I will join your band as well, as it seems Ravenrode would have work for me.” The archer said, not looking up from his sake.

The gunslinger grinned at the Wanderers. “All four of us huh? Well then, this trips gonna be easy as pie.” He declared.


	3. Chapter 2

The gunslinger was right about one thing: the way to Ravenrode did not promise safety. The Chingale Forest was a dark place, and much of its plants seemed to have wilted under the never sunny sky. It was said many great evils lurked among the dark boughs, though few were ever seen. Dark grey clouds rolled and broiled above as the Four Wanderers made their way down the old stone path. They walked through the dreary oaks silently, for no one wanted to make conversation here. The forest seemed to press down on them, a dark presence that might awake at any disturbance.  
The soldier stepped on a twig, and winced as the snap seemed to fill the air. The archer shushed the soldier instinctually, and he glared in reply.  
The uneasy silence was broken as the gunslinger stopped abruptly. The archer slammed into the gunslinger, who he’d been walking behind.  
“Do you-” the archer began to berate the gunslinger, when he held a finger to his lips.  
In barely over a whisper, he spoke to the other Wanderers, “Do y’all hear that?”  
Now straining for sound, the other Wanderers heard it too. A strange rhythmic crunching, like some large thing taking careful steps through the forest to their far left.  
They froze, hardly daring to breathe in the stillness.  
Crunch... crunch... crunch...  
Suddenly it stopped. The silence seemed to press down even harder on the Wanderers, like the forest itself was holding its breath.  
Then, a new noise started.  
It was quiet at first, some of the Wanderers mistook it for their own shallow breaths. A deep sniffing, grunting sound that whispered over the path. It gradually grew louder and louder. The gunslinger drew his weapon and the others followed suit.  
All of a sudden, the sound stopped. And another replaced it. Heralded by an unholy shriek, a dark boar the size of a house charged through the bushes. The Wanderers dove out of the way of the creature’s mighty tusks, and circled it warily. The beast spun towards the soldier, a feral madness in its eyes. The soldier released a torrent of bullets, and the boar charged towards him. With inhuman speed, the soldier leapt out of the way, but even then the monster’s massive tusks managed to gore his side. The soldier cried out in pain, and quick as lightning, the alchemist threw a potion to her wounded companion. The boar roared in deafening anger, as the gunslinger and archer began to unleash volley after volley of bullets and arrows upon it. But most of these bounced off the enraged creature with little effect. Its hide was made of thicker things, it seemed. The archer’s gaze met with the creature’s own, and with great effort he sent an arrow soaring towards the creature’s eye. The arrow pierced its mark and the beast roared in pain.  
“Good Shot!” The gunslinger said, following the arrow with a round of bullets into the it’s eye. The monster gave a horrendous scream that shook the very earth, and charged the archer. As the archer looked death in the face, he shot arrow after arrow. But his shots only made the foul beast angrier. His hands finally grasped the last arrow in his quiver and he felt cold fear beat through his heart. He slotted the arrow into his bow, and began to speak.  
“Ryuuga wagateki wo kurau!” His arm tattoo glowed and took form, seeming to come alive as he spoke the powerful incantation.  
As the light reached out from his arm and wound around his arrow, he realized it was too late. He would be crushed before the the arrow could fire.  
Suddenly, from his side, the alchemist appeared. She drew a small gun and shot at the boar, sending a dart straight to its head. The archer considered thanking the alchemist, but surely she knew her bullets could not harm the beast?  
The archer turned to the boar, and to his amazement, it had slowed down! By the time it reached him, it was stumbling over its feet, and he leapt away easily. The alchemist, was not so lucky. She was pushed back a few feet by the massive creature’s sliding head, and was pinned to a wilting oak. As the boar finally shook off the sleeping brew, it regarded the woman who stood before it, who had stopped its unstoppable charge!  
Without a glimmer of fear in her eyes, the alchemist stared down the foul-smelling monster. She aimed her gun thoughtfully, for she knew if she did not shoot perfectly, she would be slain. With the most careful precision, she-  
“BRIGITTE!”  
Suddenly, Brigitte was thrust back into reality by the sound of Reinhardt yelling her name.  
“Coming!”  
She snapped the book closed, and gently placed it back on the shelf where she’d found it, along with its errant papers. She’d have to finish it another day. Actually, it occurred to her, maybe she shouldn’t have read it without asking him. She considered telling the crusader, when another shout echoed through the room. Brigitte began navigating through the piles of assorted junk.  
“FIND ANYTHING GOOD?” He called to her.  
“You could say that!” She shouted back.


End file.
